


The Dark Swan and The Evil Queen

by gals_being_pals



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/F, dance au, swan lake AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gals_being_pals/pseuds/gals_being_pals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan and Regina Mills are renowned ballet dancers, meeting for the first time as they rehearse for a wildly progressive revision of Swan Lake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on fanfiction dot net (but brought over with Chapter 3). Regarding the first chapter: drinking and driving is dangerous, not just for you but for everyone around you, so please, please, do not do it. This story begins with a reckless situation in which a character makes some bad decisions. These decisions are not in any way endorsed by the author as appropriate for real life.

Fuck. This. Shit. Emma, or The Dark Swan as the magazines called her, stalked out of the bar. Dancers were so full of shit. Healthy? Yeah right. More like drunken junkies maintaining ridiculous standards with energy drinks and bulemia. Emma swigged the dregs of her whiskey from the bottle she held inside a brown paper bag, threw the whole lot away, and swung herself onto her motorcycle. It was black, like her soul. She chucked, turned the keys in the ignition, crammed her wild blonde hair into her helmet, and surged into the night. She wove in and out of traffic, her mind a blur of frustration and desperation.

She needed to dance.

The studio was dark; she left the lights off, enjoying the emptiness. She twirled her iPod in her fingers, choosing the song. She grinned, then plugged it into the sound system. If she ever taught dance classes, she'd tell the kids this song was about dancers, because for every success. there were pretty much infinite failures.

Bam, bam, bam, another one bites the dust. Emma shed her clothes, her boots and socks, her red leather jacket, her too-tight jeans, her black tank top. She stood in her black sports bra and boy shorts, flexed her abs, and began to stretch to the beat. She resisted the temptation to push herself too hard. Even stars needed to warm up. Stars. Emma made a noise of derision at the thought, and waited for the next song, the sign that her warm up was over. She grinned widely when it started.

_She keeps her Moet et Chandon_

_In her pretty cabinet_

_'Let them eat cake' she says_

_Just like Marie Antoinette_

_A built-in remedy_

_For Kruschev and Kennedy_

_At anytime an invitation_

_You can't decline_

_Caviar and cigarettes_

_Well versed in etiquette_

_Extraordinarily nice_

_She's a Killer Queen_

_Gunpowder, guillotine_

_Dynamite with a laser beam_

_Guaranteed to blow your mind_

_Anytime_

_Ooh, recommended at the price_

_Insatiable an appetite_

_Wanna try?_

And Emma danced. No one ever saw her dance like this. She was a perfect professional in public. Well, okay, no. But she was when she was dancing. That was the only way she got away with everything else. Alone, though, she really could be anything. She flew through the air, singing out loud, her hair whipping around with every sloppy pirouette. Emma had spent her whole life developing flawless technique, but she only felt truly happy when she danced with her heart rather than her head.

She danced for hours, until she was gasping for breath, until she'd exhausted every Queen song in her music library's repertoire.

Then, as dawn crept into the studio, she pulled her clothes back on, switched the sound system for headphones, and walked out into the street. She kept the world out, hardly interacting even when she bought a cup of coffee from her usual vendor, not even glancing at the front page of ELLE (she was on it) or the entertainment feature of the NY Times (her again) or the posters declaring the opening of Swan Lake in a month, that showed her in her full swan regalia. She'd had her wild phase, which the tabloids loved to discuss, but now, really, Emma Swan (yes, her real name) just wanted to be left alone.

BREAK

Regina flicked through yet another magazine with the lithe blonde stereotype as its main feature. She rolled her eyes, just as her mother would have. Then she strolled into her studio, flicked on the lights, examined herself in the mirror, smiling at her designer leotard that covered her petite, toned form. She stretched, she performed the same routine before every practice. Then she began the Swan Lake playlist. It was absurd, this idea of the most famous dancing company in the world, to have two female leads in Swan Lake instead of using a man. It was also amazing, and though Regina would never admit it, she was ecstatic that they had shipped her from LA to partner with the infamous Dark Swan. Emma Swan had starred in Swan Lake for three seasons already, but this year, she was to take the "male" role, and Regina would be the heroine.

BREAK

Emma finished her coffee, then ran all the way to her apartment. She had to shower, change, eat, have coffee number two, braid her hair... She raced through her morning routine, a brief yawn the only indicator that she had hardly slept in three days, then grinned as she pulled up the picture of Regina Mills, LA's Evil Queen of ballet, and her new dancing partner. She looked like a stuck up bitch. This was going to be fun. Emma cackled. She really was dark.

BREAK

Regina took one last look at Emma's cover, sipped her grapefruit juice, and buttoned herself into her Burberry jacket. Her buzzer rang; she left her penthouse suite into her private elevator, left the hotel with barely a nod to the concierge who held the door for her, and slid into the leather of her limousine. She rolled her back and shoulders, frowning momentarily at the slight ache caused by lack of sleep. It was just jet lag, she assured herself. She ignored the annoying reminder in the back of her mind that she had been having trouble sleeping back in LA, too.

As the car moved effortlessly through the streets, Regina thought she saw a blonde blur through the tinted window. Could it really be..? She made a face. If Swan was late there would be hell to pay. No one kept Regina Mills waiting.

Regina finished in her private dressing room, her black leotard and tights setting off her olive skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. The studio was already occupied. The director was there - Gold. An impish little man, he had basically rewritten the entire story to, in Regina's opinion, fulfil some weird lesbian fantasy. But she also thought the script was just what the industry needed. It was fresh and progressive, and ballet /really/ needed that. Regina had a feeling her mother would not be so positive about the massacre of a classic, but Regina liked a lot of things about it. There was both dark and light in both characters, and both strength and weakness. The only reason she called Swan's the "male" part was because Swan was taller, and would be lifting, while Regina would be lifted. Regina hid her fear about this - showing distrust in Swan's strength would only make it more likely for her to fail. She also had to hide some frustration, but that was easier, because it was directed only at her height, and arguably being small made her a better dancer anyway.

Regina did her warm up, preparing her tirade for when Emma was late. Two minutes left. One minute. Thirty seconds, Regina's brow furrowed, twenty, ten, nine-

Emma Swan, also all in black, walked into the room for all the world as if she hadn't just sprinted ten blocks. She wasn't even out of breath. She tucked a loose strand of hair into her bun. Regina glared at her.

"Black is _my_ colour," she muttered under her breath.

"Looks great on you, I gotta say," Emma whispered in her ear. Regina blushed furiously. She hadn't thought Emma would hear.

"Shall we get started, then?"

Gold seemed turned on already. Emma seemed determined to play up to his fantasy. Regina could see why someone like Emma Swan would find that amusing.

BREAK

God, she was even cuter in person. And she was angry already. It made her so adorable. Emma was tempted to tell her. It would make her even angrier. Maybe this would be her last show. She had enough money, she'd had enough of fame... She could retire into teaching and spend the rest of her days yelling at spoilt kids who didn't know their left foot from their right. She tried not to puke at the thought.

Gold went through the first piece he wanted to prepare. They listened to the music, then began to block the steps. Emma didn't remember blocking being anything like this much fun. But maybe it was the close proximity to Regina, who, having recovered from her blush, was doing a brilliant job of showing no emotion whatsoever.

Trying not to laugh at Gold's excitement whenever they touched, Emma allowed her fingers to linger as they brushed against her partner. Maybe she imagined it, but at one point, she could have sworn she heard Regina sigh.

Helplessly curious, as they continued, Emma kept them closer and closer, then, when Gold called to take five, she grabbed Regina's wrist and took her pulse. Regina gasped, affronted, and totally caught.

"Either you're shockingly unfit, or totally into this," Emma said, almost saying "me" but deciding at the last moment that it would be foolish to push too hard.

BREAK

"It's something different, that's all."

Emma laughed."Imagine me with a cock, so it's more like what you're used to."

Regina smirked. Two could play at this game. "What makes you so sure cock is what I'm used to?"

It was Emma's turn to gasp. Regina smiled smugly, and Emma didn't manage to speak before Gold announced the break was over and they went back to blocking. Gold really was a creep, Regina decided, but so many directors were... At least he kept his hands to himself. And he was incredibly talented. She couldn't condone his voyeurism, but it was so common in her line of work. After all, she was paid to be looked at. Regina saw performance culture as society's way of condoning prostitution. She and Emma might not be fucking anyone, but they allowed themselves to be anyone's fantasy, and in a way they had far less control than street walkers.

Regina thought back to her childhood, when all she'd wanted to do was dance. She wondered if her life would ever be simple again. She doubted it. She also wondered, fleetingly, how Emma felt about the whole thing. Could the other woman really just find it amusing?

BREAK

Emma forced her mind to swerve roads laughter yet again. She'd been in this business too long. It was getting harder and harder to find everything funny. People like Gold were becoming uncomfortably real.

Regina was helping, though. She was such a distraction. Teasing her, and now being teased by her, took Emma's mind off pretty much everything else.

They finished blocking, ran through the piece, then Gold sent them off to practise. Emma watched Regina click the door closed behind them. They were alone. But the electric atmosphere was just the music, the dancing... Right? They didn't speak, they remembered the steps. Everything went off without a hitch until the first lift.

Regina could feel Emma's strength, their shared strength, and had to hold back a smile. She hadn't felt so powerful when dancing since... Since she could remember. The recording of the famous piece made her feel like she was flying. She and Emma danced as characters meeting for the first time. As characters full of hope. As characters falling in love.

They spun together. Emma had been working on lifts for months, she was incredibly prepared. It should have been no trouble. But then Regina looked at her. LOOKED. And there was a nervous anticipation in the brunette's eyes that had nothing to do with dancing, and suddenly Emma's heart was racing and the tightness of her core muscles faltered for a moment and as she swept Regina into the air, she stumbled backwards, causing Regina to fall. Emma caught her, of course, but the impact led to another stumble, and Emma landed on her ass on the hard wooden floor, with Regina in an ungainly heap on her lap.

"IDIOT!" Regina yelled, all the more angry because she knew she had surprised Emma. They were dancing around something, but they had to keep their distance. Regina had gotten too close.

"I'm so sorry," Emma said, setting Regina on her feet, then scrambling up ungracefully. She pulled herself together, reminding her muscles that she was a dancer. Her posture became respectable again. They were both blushing.

"At least it wasn't in front of Gold," Emma said with a wry chuckle.

"If there had been an audience, I would have killed you," Regina said, no trace of humour in the statement.

Emma put a hand to her heart in mock-horror. "You terrify me, Regina."

Regina liked the way Emma's mouth caressed her name. They had made no introductions, they both knew very well who their partner was.

"I hope your fear inspires you to be more careful the next time you are holding me six feet in the air, Miss Swan."

"Shall we test it?"

Regina forced herself not to worry. Emma had recovered from the slip without causing any damage. Regina was fine. She had felt quite safe, caught in the blonde's arms.

"You're not at all hurt from the fall?" she checked.

Emma leaned around as if to examine her backside.

"Looks okay to me. What do you think?"

Regina rolled her eyes.

"Don't you dare drop me," she said as they rewound the music and prepared for the lift.

They danced into each other. Emma felt perfectly confident. She resisted the temptation to wink at Regina right before she lifted her. It had taken less than that to throw Emma off; she didn't want a repeat mistake, and Emma secretly thought Regina's part, in this instance, was harder than hers. Also, a mistake by Regina could cause Emma a lot more damage than them simply falling to the floor.

They executed the lift perfectly. Regina waited until her feet were safely on the floor, then caught Emma's eye again.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" she said snarkily.

Emma didn't reply. They finished the piece.

"Again?" Emma asked. Regina nodded, all snark disappearing as she moved fully into work mode.

They rehearsed, they blocked, they rehearsed again. By the end of the week all their solos would be finished, by the end of the next, every scene would be memorised, the next week would be group rehearsals, and the week after, dress rehearsals, ending with the opening night. Gold was frantic as always, but Emma thought they had a leisurely amount of time to prepare.

At the end of the first day, most of the dancers went to a local bar to celebrate. Emma and Regina resolutely ignored the fact that they were the only ones not going. They also resolutely ignored each other, though Regina couldn't help but notice a blonde bombshell straddle a motorcycle and roar out of the parking lot as she got into her limousine.

Emma stopped by her favourite Chinese place, then rode home with the takeout bag on her lap, inhaling the delicious scent of grease and additives and questionable meat. She parked and locked up the bike, bounded upstairs, then dove into the bag, still on the way to the couch, where she flopped down and munched her meal, then turned on some dramatic TV show. Someone was about to get murdered. Emma let the psycho killer do her stuff, collecting a tub of rocky road ice cream to wash down the fried-ness.

Regina had a routine that she kept to even when away from home. She showered, moisturised, dressed in silk pyjamas, then sat down to drink a pint of water and eat a salad. She had given explicit instructions to the hotel kitchen on how the salad should be prepared. Then she did some light stretches, and settled on the couch to read a book.

The book was boring, though. It had been her mother's. With a sigh, she turned on the TV. She felt guilty even before there was a picture on the screen, but the screams of someone being murdered grabbed her attention and she found herself forced to find out what was happening.

BREAK

Just like the day before, Emma was very nearly late, though she showed no concern. They were working on the most famous solo, in which Regina was the feature, and Emma was more... A worshipful subject. Emma had been preparing for the new role, but even with the much revised script, it was strange to see another woman in what she had come to know as her place. It was a sad, desperate piece of music, and Regina danced the emotion perfectly. Emma decided that was the problem. She didn't say anything in front of Gold, but when they left to practise without him, she expressed her concerns.

"You have to feel it. I know I'm a pain in the ass, but in this dance, this character, she really thinks I'm the shit, you know?"

Regina almost laughed. It seemed that Emma's wording was always colourful.

"Thank you for the advice," she said politely. "I will work on incorporating a belief that you are 'the shit' into my dancing."

"I love it when you curse," Emma said, pretending to shudder.

"Please control yourself. Shall we work, now?"

The week continued in this manner. Emma tried to sleep rather than drink. Regina tried to figure out how to put emotion into her dancing.

They both reached a breaking point on Saturday night, the night before their one day off.

Emma broke her lonely, sober streak, and went to the bar. Regina watched her leave with the other dancers with something like jealousy, though she told herself this was ridiculous. Regina had been feeling more and more insecure about her emotional expression. She had always argued that it was acting, and that the skill was to show emotion that you did not feel. But watching Emma, there was something else. Emma FELT. There was pain in her eyes, not just in the way she moved, and her dancing drew the audience in in a way Regina was not sure she could match. Watching Emma's solo, she had been brought almost to tears. To TEARS. By an annoying, silly, immature idiot.

Regina was a queen. That was what her mother had always said. She was a queen, she was better than that, she was better than foolishness, she was always poised, always perfect.

Sitting alone in her hotel room on Saturday night after yet another salad, Regina wanted to be anything but perfect. On a bizarre impulse, she stripped down to her underwear, found her headphones and iPod, and scanned through her music library for the most rebellious song she could find.

She didn't have much. It was all songs for performances, songs to memorise, or improving classical pieces. Frustrated, Regina searched online. Somehow, her irritated search led her to "Queen". And then "Killer Queen".

She pressed play. She had heard of Queen, of course, but she made a point (and her mother had made a point) of not polluting her ears with "classless" music, so she did not recognise the song.

It wasn't as fast as she'd been expecting, but the beat and the baseline crept into her feet and before long she was prancing around the room, turning up the volume and throwing in jumps and kicks just for the hell of it. She found herself in her bedroom; she jumped on the bed, posing for the mirror, swaying her hips, admiring the muscles she worked so hard for. She WAS a killer queen.

BREAK

Emma, meanwhile, was on her fifth whiskey, though she had paid for nothing. She wondered if her sponsor knew who she was. Probably. They usually did. Emma didn't bother learning any names. And lately, no matter how many drinks were pressed on her, she had been leaving alone.

Not going home though. No. She had left her bike at the studio. She staggered onto the street, hurrying away from her affronted companion. They gave it up, though. Emma was glad that the majority of people had learned that no really did mean no.

Maybe she would go to the studio too. It had music. She had a song. She decided it was about Regina. Regina who should just have ASKED and Emma would have spent the night with her. Emma had hinted, she'd come very close to offering, but Regina had something snippy about not wasting her social time on the likes of Emma... And then SHE'D had the gall to look hurt, like Emma was leaving HER, when Emma went to the bar.

"I can't decide, whether you should live or die," Emma muttered as she let herself into the studio. Boy, she was drunk. She took out her phone, then, probably in error, sent a link to the song in a text to Regina.

"Whoosh," she giggled, then turned on the sound system and sang the song passionately into the floor to ceiling mirror.

BREAK

Regina's phone buzzed. To her surprise, it was Emma. Why would Emma text her? Regina knew she'd been mean earlier, she felt bad, she... Why would EMMA mend fences?

Regina opened the message and put on the song. It blared out into the room. She froze, her mood incredibly confused. Because the song was angry, but some lines really caught in Regina's mind, and she immensely enjoyed the images they created.

"Fuck and kiss you both at the same time," for example. Fucking and kissing Emma-

Regina stopped her mind in its tracks. No. No way. She couldn't go there, she knew what happened to dancers who screwed around with their co stars. They ruined performances, they lost their jobs, and they often seemed to get pregnant. Okay, at least she didn't have to worry about that with Emma.

Regina turned off the music and went to bed. She would pretend she never received the text. She tossed and turned, but the night passed and she spent her day off working out, in contrast to Emma, in fact. Emma spent the day in a miserable, hungover cocoon of blankets.

BREAK

The group blocking had pros and cons. On the plus side, it was less work, so there was more time for Emma and Regina to ogle each other while pretending to concentrate. However, it was also stressful and boring, and despite a company of brilliant dancers, Gold was constantly finding flaws and mistakes.

Emma and Regina left to work on their solos, their doubles filling in for them. Emma prayed Regina wouldn't mention the text, but was somehow disappointed when her prayers were answered.

"Good weekend?" she asked when they broke for lunch.

"It was fine. How was yours, Miss Swan?"

"Fine too, I guess. You can call me Emma, you know."

"I prefer to keep things formal."

"Wait, d'you mean you want me to call you Miss Mills?"

"I do not mind what you call me."

Emma grinned.

"Okay, your majesty," she said, jumping up to refill her water bottle before Regina could protest. She whirled round, though, and held out her hand to take Regina's empty bottle too.

Regina passed it over in surprise. Emma bounced off. Regina watched her. She was like a puppy. So eager to please. Apart from with that message. Regina sighed. When Emma returned, she thanked her, then took a deep breath.

"Miss Swan... I apologise for what I said on Friday. I did not mean it, that is to say, I was being flippant. I would not be at all embarrassed to be seen with you."

Emma let out a laugh. Regina looked mortified. Emma quickly tried to explain.

"Oh, no, I'm not laughing at you. I mean, I'm laughing because I'm relieved. I thought maybe you hated me because I texted you that song."

"Ah, that," Regina said awkwardly. "Actually, I rather liked it."

"You did? You're always surprising me, you know."

"Maybe I'm not as boring as you think I am."

"Maybe... For what it's worth, Regina, I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen with you either."

Emma felt a little bad that Regina was so right. Emma did think she was boring. But she was getting less and less boring with each flutter of her eyelashes, and Emma had a horrible feeling that by the end of another week working together, she wouldn't find Regina boring at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Every dance was blocked. All solos were learned and practised. The third week was for full group rehearsals, perfecting every scene until it fitted with Gold's vision for his masterpiece. To Emma's great frustration, she had ceased to find Regina Mills at all boring. The worst part was, they didn't even do anything together. Their dancing was the picture of professionalism, and that was the only time they spent together. They didn't talk during lunch, and Regina continued to avoid socialising with the company. Emma understood. She kind of wished she could avoid them, too, but she had to do SOMETHING to stop herself from breaking into Regina's hotel just to spend more time with her.

Another Saturday was approaching. The previous Saturday, Emma had tried, inviting Regina to the bar, but Regina had struggled through an excuse, eventually pretending she wanted an early night. In fact, Regina just didn't like bars. She didn't like being recognised, she didn't like being hit on, and she didn't like being drunk and vulnerable around strangers. Even with Emma, who she almost trusted, she would have spent the whole time being worried and awkward, and the truth was she didn't want Emma to see her like that.

However, Emma knew none of this, so just felt rejected, and Regina knew that, so felt guilty, which made her behaviour even more aloof. Regina had decided, though, that this Saturday, she would ask Emma. Somewhere. What did friends do? She'd even, to her shame, googled for suggestions. Regina had never had friends, even as a child. Her mother disapproved of almost everyone, and strictly controlled Regina's social life. The few children she had been allowed to see, Regina hadn't liked.

As a teenager, she'd had a brief crush on one of her dance instructor's assistants, but even if he'd been the head of the company he wouldn't have been enough for her mother, and he was actually little more than a clerk. Cora had found out, Regina had switched studios, and that was the end of it. She'd hardly even known him. Since then her love life had been respectable and dull. She had dated a few men that her mother had deemed worthy... She didn't think her mother knew about her predilection for women, but you could never really be sure with Cora.

They were in the middle of the studio, in the center of the group, performing an elaborate routine, the one that led into the grand finale. It was Thursday afternoon, late afternoon, and everyone was tired, thirsty, and more than ready for the weekend, despite the two full days of rehearsal before their day off. Gold let out a sound of angry frustration.

"Stop, stop, before I die of boredom! All of you, get out of my sight and take a thirty minute break. I don't care what you do with it, but when you return I want to see some LIFE in your dancing, do you understand?"

Emma and Regina were both too used to rude directors to be at all phased by this comment, but some of the newer members of the company retreated with bowed, blushing heads. Regina stretched, rolling her shoulders. She hadn't had a good night's sleep for over a month. She didn't understand why people loved New York. Perhaps it was the city that never slept, but in Regina's opinion, this was not something to be proud of.

Emma had noticed the purple shadows under Regina's eyes, that only grew darker with each day. She had chosen not to comment, deciding she would rather not have her head bitten off, but something about Regina's tired sigh brought on a moment of foolish honesty.

"You look exhausted, Regina," Emma said softly as they made their way down the hallway.

Regina turned to glare. They were at her dressing room; she marched inside, intending to close the door without replying, but Emma was too quick, following her through it.

"I don't mean you look bad, but your back and shoulders look so tense, you must be in agony when you're dancing."

Regina forced herself not to blush.

"It is of no consequence. Dancers suffer through far greater pain."

Emma shrugged. "If you say so. But if you want, I could loosen you up a little for this evening. I'm not criticising, I find it hard to sleep when I'm not in my own bed, too."

Regina didn't say anything. Emma turned to leave, ignoring the pangs of rejection that shot through her chest. She was a step away from the threshold when Regina called out.

"Miss Swan, wait…"

Emma turned, a goofy grin on her face. She practically bounced over to the couch, threw a pillow onto the floor in front of it, and pointed.

"Sit."

Regina did as she was told. She wanted to be affronted at the way Emma ordered her about so easily, but Emma looked so happy… Emma settled on the couch behind her partner, then reached across to grab a clean looking towel. She pulled at the back of Regina's leotard.

"Off, please," she said, leaning around to flash Regina another smile. She passed Regina the towel.

"You can use that to cover up your… You know." Emma blushed, suddenly feeling a little shy. Regina chuckled, slipped her top half out of the leotard, and utilised the towel as instructed.

Emma looked around for lotion. Regina noticed, and pointed to a bottle on her vanity. Emma jumped up to get it, back to her cheerful self. Regina had the fleeting thought that this persona was never visible in Emma's dancing, or really anywhere in public. Emma was always strong and energetic, but Regina couldn't remember ever seeing her so free and happy.

"I'm sweaty," Regina protested. Emma rubbed lotion onto her hands.

"Doesn't bother me," she said, sounding genuinely friendly.

She began to work the muscles of Regina's back and shoulders, starting with her neck and trapezius, gentle at first but becoming more forceful, breaking down areas of tension. When the first knot released, to her great mortification, Regina let out a loud moan. Emma glanced at the still open door.

"I wonder if anyone'll come to watch," she teased. At Regina's bright red cheeks, though, she gave a light stroke of her fingers on a shoulder blade. "I'm kidding. We do this for each other all the time. They'll know what I'm doing. If they even notice, they won't bat an eyelid."

Regina made a quiet noise of understanding, only just managing not to beg Emma to continue the massage. Thankfully, Emma continued without being asked. She worked until they only had a hurried minute to get back to the studio.

"That should tide you over for tonight," Emma said as Regina put her leotard back on, "but you could do with a good going over, and not just your back."

Regina forced her mind back to the innocent meaning Emma had intended. Emma caught the flash of lust in Regina's eyes; she wondered if she was tired enough to be seeing things.

"I could…" Emma began, but she trailed off, perfectly confident in her abilities, but reluctant to be rejected again.

"What?" Regina asked, her tone almost soft.

"I could do it," Emma said. "I know how, and it'd take a few hours, but I'm pretty good, and if you want, I could do it. Might help you sleep, too, with the right candles and stuff."

"You know about candles and stuff?" Regina asked incredulously. Emma laughed.

"Sure. But I guess you're not interested." She cast her eyes down, trying not to be disappointed.

"I…" Regina began. Emma waited for the rebuttal. At least she sounded kind.

"Saturday," Regina blurted out.

"What?" Emma asked, taken completely by surprise.

"Saturday. You can do it on Saturday. If you really don't mind. And in return, I will…" Regina racked her brains for something from her research about seduction. Take them to the ballet. Because that's exactly what they'd want to do with their time off. She cursed herself for fixating on this suggestion for precious seconds. "I will make you dinner," she said, relieved that she had recalled something more appropriate. Emma grinned widely.

"Really?"

Regina didn't know which Emma found unbelievable - her agreement to the massage, or her offer of a home cooked meal. Perhaps Emma expected far more in return, she had been stupid to suggest something as simple as dinner...

"Why would I say so, if not?" she responded cautiously. Emma smiled. She was so beautiful when she smiled like that.

"Sorry. It's just, no one ever cooks for me. Like, ever. And I never learned myself, either. I have a repertoire of instant noodles, grilled cheese, and take out. But I love food so much, I mean, the few times I got good meals as a kid, I remember it being heavenly… I'm rambling. We have to go, Gold's gonna be so pissed. But I just… That's very kind of you, and I'd love it."

Regina looked at Emma in wonder. How had this woman lived, that something as simple as a meal was so exciting to her? They rushed into the studio and neither woman had a chance to worry until the practice ended. When it did, Emma found herself lingering. She had grabbed her stuff, shoving on sweats, boots, and her trusty leather jacket, but now that she was ready to leave, she couldn't bring herself to go.

Regina was waiting outside. The other dancers hurried out into the night. Emma watched Regina, wondering why she didn't leave. She moved closer.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Emma plucked up the courage to ask. Regina turned, slightly surprised that anyone was still there.

"My driver," she said stiffly.

Emma looked around.

"Shouldn't he be here by now?"

Regina rolled her eyes. Emma took that as a yes.

"Do you need a ride?"

Regina eyed the motorcycle helmet under Emma's arm. Emma followed the look.

"Or I could lend you some cash, if you need it for a taxi," Emma offered.

Regina bit her lip. She did not like to say, it was a childish thing, but she greatly disliked taking taxis, especially alone. They made her feel vulnerable and trapped. She preferred only to be driven by her personal, vetted driver, though she might have to fire him after tonight.

"I do not like taxis," she admitted. Emma nodded in understanding.

"Me either. They give me the creeps."

Regina internally wondered how Emma could be afraid of anything. Emma tossed her helmet in her hands.

"I have a spare, and you can wear my jacket. It's safe, I promise. I only ever crashed once and that was years ago, and I was wasted-"

"Please spare me the details. Do you really expect me to wear that abomination?"

Emma pretended to be offended.

"Don't hate on the jacket. This baby's been with me through everything."

"But why would somebody  _dye_ leather red?"

Emma laughed, her blonde hair rippling with the movement - she had released it from the tight, braided updo she used when dancing and now it curled, like a storybook princess' hair. She held out the jacket. Regina frowned, then removed her own and replaced it with the leather. She couldn't help but notice how strongly it smelled of Emma. The smell was not at all unpleasant. She held her own jacket out to Emma, who laughed again, but shrugged into the designer fabric. It didn't fit too badly, despite their height difference. It was Regina's turn to laugh.

"It would look quite good if it weren't for the sweats," she said.

Emma grinned. "Was that your version of a compliment? Because if so, it needs work."

"Oh, Miss Swan, when I  _compliment_ people, they have no complaints."

Emma gave herself a shake as she wondered how that could be dirty, then led the way to her bike. Regina gaped at the machine. Her jaw dropped even lower at the sight of Emma straddling it, despite the blonde's odd outfit. Emma rolled her hips for Regina's benefit, then patted the seat behind her, offering her spare helmet. Regina fixed it on her head and cautiously climbed onto the bike. She could hear her mother making all manner of threats, declaring the utter stupidity of taking this ride, but she ignored all her qualms. Cora was far, far away, and when she was with Emma, Regina almost felt…  _Free_.

"Hold tight," Emma advised, fastening her own helmet. She popped the visor up and turned around. "And if you need something, or want to stop, I won't be able to hear you, so pinch me, okay?"

Regina nodded.

"Where are you staying?" Emma asked.

"The Royal."

Emma laughed.

"Should've known."

"Do you know the way?"

"Yup. Hang on!"

Emma pushed down her visor and kicked the bike into action. Regina gasped at the roar of the engine beneath them. The only bike she'd ridden had been a push bike with pink tassels on the handlebars that her mother had taken away when she was eight because it was a "distraction". She was entirely unprepared for the speed of Emma's motorcycle; she had intended to keep a firm but respectable hold around the blonde's waist, but as soon as they were moving she involuntarily pressed her body against Emma's back and hung on for dear life.

After a few minutes of desperate fear, Regina finally dared to open her eyes. They were soaring. Flying through a blur of red and yellow light, through a city of dusky shadows and faceless souls. Through a city of millions, yet totally alone. Regina's heart pounded in her chest, her fingernails dug into Emma through the Burberry, and she wondered if this was what dying felt like. It was exquisite.

They arrived. Regina staggered to her feet, accepting Emma's hand.

"Are you okay?"

Emma seemed worried. Regina wasn't quite sure how to speak. She removed the helmet and the jacket. They swapped back.

"Thank you for the ride," Regina said eventually, sounding only a little breathless. She took an experimental step, and wobbled.

"Let me walk you upstairs."

"My suite has a private elevator."

"Right. Of course. I…"

"Until tomorrow, Miss Swan," Regina said firmly. The firmness was more for herself than for Emma. Little did Emma know, the brunette was a slip of the hand away from dragging her riding companion up to her penthouse and indulging in-

"Goodnight, Regina," Emma said, adjusting her jacket. She was still wearing the helmet. She had the visor up and some of her hair was escaping, tangling around her shoulders.

"Yes," Regina said absently. Her legs returned from their jellied state and she all but ran into the hotel. Emma watched her go, bewildered.

BREAK

The next morning was a morning of lies. The lead dancers stood in the middle of the room, pretending nothing had happened.

Nothing  _had_ happened, Emma told herself. Regina had needed a ride. Emma had given her one. That was all.

Every touch was electric. Every touch was passion. It was torture. Regina never wanted it to end. She had never felt like this. She had never  _wanted_ like this. She felt like a wild thing, a lustful, sinful creature, and she danced like never before.

Their director squealed with delight at their newfound chemistry. Emma considered prayer.

_Please, God, get her away from me. She will be my undoing._

They danced close, they moved as one, they moved with longing and passion, they were hypnotic to watch, and they hardly dared to speak. Neither woman had any idea what to say. Emma felt flooded with darkness, with worry, with fear. She knew what she was feeling, and it was what she had sworn she could not feel, because it could never be reciprocated. Regina was also afraid, but there was something underneath both their fears, something which lit up their hearts and could not be stopped. Because no matter their pasts, neither woman had lost hope.

BREAK

Emma stumbled, accidentally walking into Regina in an effort to avoid touching her.

"Shit, sorry, I-"

Regina turned and smiled, a pure, genuine smile that she had almost forgotten she could produce.

"Thank you for taking me home last night. I appreciate it."

Emma couldn't help but reflect the smile.

"It was my pleasure."

They were like shy teenagers. It was ridiculous.

"I am looking forward to tomorrow. Do you like lasagna?" Regina asked. It was an old favourite of hers.

"I love it," Emma said, still grinning.

"Good. And… beer, I suppose?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You don't drink beer, do you?"

"With lasagna I would normally have a glass of red wine."

"Then why not give me that?"

Emma knew she was pushing, but the twinkle in Regina's eyes kept her going.

"Instinct."

"Budweiser."

"How… traditional."

Emma saluted to an imaginary flag. Regina rolled her eyes. Her car was here, she noticed.

"I should go."

Emma looked at the car. "Then go."

Regina smiled her teenage smile. "I don't want to."

Emma gave her a look. "Tomorrow."

Another smile. She was smiling so much her face hurt. It was bliss. "Tomorrow." She got into the car.

BREAK

The hotel was desperately empty. Her driver had been forgiven - even he couldn't plan his wife going into labour. Regina wandered through the rooms, ending up in the studio. She was in her pyjamas; she kicked off her slippers and turned on some music. Pop music, slow music, teenage crush music.

She didn't hear her phone ring the first time; she only just caught it the second, and frowned at the caller ID when she did.

"Good evening, Mother."

"Hello, dear. What on earth were you doing?"

"Dancing."

"But you have danced all day, surely. You will tire yourself out. Do not be foolish with this, Regina. It is a wonderful opportunity."

"I know. I'm not, it wasn't strenuous- Never mind. I'll stop."

"Good girl. How is New York?"

"Busy. I think the show will be wonderful."

"I will be the judge of that."

"You don't have to come every night-"

"I have not missed a single performance of yours, since you were a child."

"No. Thank you, your dedication to my career is-"

"You have not called me for over a week."

"I'm sorry, I'm so busy-"

"You cannot rehearse all the time. I know for a fact that you do not rehearse on Sundays. So what have you been doing?"

"Nothing, Mother! Dancing, reading…"  _Fantasising about my co-star_.

"Do not shut me out, Regina. You know how I dislike it when you shut me out."

"I'm not shutting-"

"Regina."

"I'm sorry. I'll call you more often."

"I was worried about you."

"There is no need to worry."

"Hm. I will be there in a week to look after you. You were never very good at looking after yourself."

"Mother, I'm fine. But thank you. I look forward to seeing you."

"I dislike New York."

Regina held in a sigh. "Me too," she said after a pause.

"Are you unhappy?"

Another near sigh. "No, Mother. I am very happy."

"You are lonely. I will keep you company, but you need a husband."

"Mother-"

"When you are home, I will arrange some meetings. There are several eligible men, some of quite considerable assets."

"Yes, Mother."

"Do not sound so despondent, dear. You will soon be suitably married."

Regina forced some enthusiasm. "Yes, Mother. I should go, it's late here."

"Of course, you should be in bed. You must get enough rest, Regina. I am concerned that you do not."

"You're right. I'm going to bed now."

"Good."

"Goodnight, Mother."

The line went dead. Regina stared at the phone, wondering how such a small, innocent looking object could convey such misery. Then she threw it to the ground and turned her music back on. Damn her mother. She would dance all night if she wanted to. Her shoulder twinged. She had an ache in her thigh, too, and even her knees were tired. But all she did in bed was toss and turn.

BREAK

Practice on Saturday was agonisingly slow. Regina's phone had survived its rocky landing, and during the first break she discovered a lengthy email from her mother about the trials of her LA office (she owned a high end fashion label) and suggestions for bachelors that could be met in New York. Emma noticed the frown.

"What's up?"

Regina put her phone away. She would think about her mother later. Right now, she wanted to look at Emma. She smiled. She couldn't help it, the blonde was like an adorable puppy.

"Nothing, now."

Emma grinned. "You sure? I could tell you a joke, to cheer you up."

Regina rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure that means you want to hear my joke. Ready?"

A wry nod.

"A man walks into a bar. He says, 'Ow.'"

"That was appalling."

Emma mock-bowed. Regina laughed. It felt amazing.

"Do you want to ride back to the hotel with me tonight?"

Regina's heart raced just at the thought of the motorcycle.

"It'll save fuel. So, good for the planet, you know?" Emma said.

Regina laughed. "Well in that case, I cannot really refuse. My driver will appreciate the night off. He and his wife just had a baby."

Emma grinned at Regina being thoughtful. The whole evil thing was a load of bull, Emma decided.

BREAK

Emma had brought her a jacket. It was sleek and black and not at all vulgar.

"You thought I would say yes."

"I saw you after last time," Emma pointed out.

Regina blushed, but only a little. They got onto the bike, and Regina kept her eyes wide open all the way back to the hotel. She held on as tightly as the first time, though. Just in case.

 


	3. Chapter 3

"So, a week until showtime, huh?" Emma said conversationally, trying not to think about how shiny everything was. She had money, but she left it where it belonged - in the bank, far away from her. She'd grown up with so little that excess just seemed… Weird. But Regina belonged here, fitted in perfectly.

"I am aware of the date, yes," Regina said dryly, wondering what was up with her costar. She led the way to her elevator.

"How's your driver's baby?" Emma tried again. This made Regina smile. Second time lucky, then.

"Adorable. I have decided to pay him for a month's leave, and then work out a schedule so he can spend time with his son. No parent should be forced away from their child. Would you like to see a picture? He sent me one."

Regina seemed rather surprised by the fact, as if she couldn't understand why her employee would send her a picture of his baby. But Emma took the phone, smiling, and examined the purple, wrinkly baby.

"Cute," she said insincerely.

"They always look like that when they're new."

"You want kids?" Emma blurted out. "Shit, sorry, that was super personal."

Regina put a hand on her shoulder. It was awkward, but still comforting. Odd, that they could touch almost constantly at work for three weeks, but a brush of her hand now felt far too close. Perhaps it was the containment of the elevator.

"Yes," Regina said. "I would like to have children, one day. What about you?"

"I, ah… I mean, maybe. But being a parent is such a huge responsibility, and you've met me. I'm not all that responsible. I wouldn't want to do it unless I was sure I could, you know?"

Regina nodded. She had read, as had the rest of the world, about Emma's rough childhood in the foster system, though she knew little more about it than that sentence.

The elevator pinged and they stepped out. Regina had ordered ingredients, which would be in the refrigerator of the kitchen in her suite she hardly used. It wasn't that she disliked cooking, but her mother considered it unnecessary for a professional woman to cook when she could pay others to do it for her. Regina wanted the dinner she gave Emma to be genuine, though.

They crossed the small landing to the main door of the suite. Emma had stayed in fancy hotels before, but never in the penthouse. She didn't see the point in all that space for just her.

"May I take your coat?" Regina asked, polished hostess training kicking in. Emma chuckled and removed her jacket, but hung it up herself.

"Nice," she said with a low whistle as she looked around the room. Regina shrugged, though she managed to make even that look elegant.

"It's somewhere to stay."

"You miss home, huh?"

Regina considered lying. The answer was so easy, already on the tip of her tongue. But something made her want to tell the truth, or at least part of it.

"Not particularly. I can afford a lot, but it's not very homely."

Emma thought of her own apartment, which was small and strange and quirky and her all over.

"You could get another place. What's stopping you?"

 _My mother_. "I don't know."

Regina led the way to the kitchen, turning on the oven. She was hungry, so Emma would be starved. She opened the snacks cupboard she'd never touched.

"Help yourself. I'm going to start cooking."

Emma grinned, hopping up to sit on the bar. "Pre-payment. I like it." She grabbed a bag of pretzels and dug in. She watched with interest as Regina cooked. The brunette was still incredibly tense; her brow strained with worry as she chopped vegetables and stirred sauces, pausing to pass Emma a beer.

It was very quiet, but not uncomfortable. Emma asked if she could put on some music; to Regina's surprise, she chose Bach. Intricate patterns of notes wove between them, until finally the lasagne was in the oven, everything was wiped down, and Regina had no choice but to look at Emma. Emma Swan, who was in her hotel room.

Emma took a swig of beer.

"Hi," she said, grinning. But it was still the act. Regina didn't know how she could tell, but she could. This was… Public Emma. Defensive Emma.

Regina poured herself a generous glass of wine and tried not to think about what she had agreed to let Emma do. Partly because she was terrified. Partly because every cell in her body was screaming for it. She sighed.

"Would you like to dance?" she suggested, forcing herself to sound more confident than she felt. It was a stupid idea. But-

"Oh God yes," Emma said, sounding relieved. She flipped through her phone to the Tchaik (at least she had it, Regina thought with a roll of her eyes) and held out her hand.

Emma was fine, she wore leggings and a tank top, but Regina was in a blouse and tailored slacks.

"Give me two minutes," she said, hurrying to her room. Emma drank more beer. Regina reappeared in a sheer white shirt (through which Emma could clearly see her black sports bra) and grey patterned workout pants that cut off just below her knees.

Emma rewound the music and they began. To Regina's surprise, Emma improvised. Not much, just a little, throwing in extra turns, adding a little more spice.

"What are you doing?" Regina demanded, but she didn't stop dancing.

"Having fun," Emma said with a wink. "Come on." She pulled Regina's body flush against hers. "Do what you feel."

Regina rolled her hips, pressing herself into Emma's beautiful body. Emma bent forwards, supporting Regina as she bent her back until her hair brushed the floor, then lifted her upright, then higher. Regina was incredibly conscious of the fact that as Emma raised her body, the apex of her thighs inched closer and closer to Emma's lips. She gasped as Emma's mouth brushed against her abdomen, then again with something between relief and disappointment as Emma lowered her back down.

They continued to dance, saying nothing, expressing everything they didn't know how to say. The attraction was undeniable, the chemistry was through the roof, but this wasn't uncommon. Dancing was supposed to be intimate, it was supposed to be involving. It would have been strange if they  _hadn't_ felt attraction.

The oven timer saved them from combustion. Regina, flushed from desire and exertion, hurried to retrieve the lasagne and put the final touches to their meal. Emma turned the music off and finished her beer. Regina served the food. They sat at the table,  _looking_.

"This is amazing," Emma said, her mouth full of the best lasagne she'd ever tasted. Regina felt herself smile.

"I'm glad you like it," she said, taking a small bite from her own plate. It wasn't salad. She took another bite. Mother would never know.

They talked a little more while they ate, but they were still very caught up in nervous tension. They finished and Emma insisted on doing the dishes. She allowed Regina to dry them by way of compromise.

"Okay, so, we should probably leave it a little while to let you digest," Emma said with a cute little sideways smile, "and then it'll be more comfortable if you're in bed."

They watched TV until then, it was just past 9 and Emma seemed to have a knack for finding episodes of overly dramatic and unrealistic crime shows (which Regina was also secretly fond of). They picked a gruesome murder, Regina fetched herself some water, Emma rolled her eyes and had another beer, and they sat on opposite ends of the couch and stared resolutely at the screen, even during the commercials.

An hour later, as Emma had suggested, Regina found herself naked except for a towel, face down in the middle of her bed, as Emma lit some candles she'd produced from her bag.

Warm, lotion covered hands appeared at the back of her neck.

"Tell me, like, whatever," Emma said.

Regina bit her lip. Emma began to caress the top of her spine, soothing all the tightness in her neck. Her hands were strong and incredibly skilful, and Regina could feel herself relaxing even from the first touch. Emma moved steadily down her body, taking each arm in turn, working hard on her shoulders, digging deep into the muscles, working out every bit of soreness. Regina knew she was making sounds; she did her best to keep their volume to a minimum, but she had a feeling Emma liked them anyway.

Emma paused at the base of her spine.

"Don't stop," Regina murmured into the mattress. Emma still didn't move, her fingers on the edge of the towel, until Regina reached out and tugged it away. Emma blinked, but smiled, her hands returning to Regina's smooth skin.

The touch wasn't sexual, but Regina could feel desire pooling in her core, so much so that she wasn't quite sure how she could get off the bed without revealing a wet patch. The thing was, Emma's hands were so absorbing that she didn't even care. They were on her thighs now, then her knees, then calves, then finally her feet. She took great care of her body, but every dancer's feet were battered, there was no avoiding it, and she gasped loudly as Emma chased out the pain.

And then she stopped. Regina realised, too late, that it had to end sometime. She couldn't help the whine that escaped her lips. Emma laughed nervously. She was plucking up the courage to do something. Regina could tell. She wished she would get on with it.

"I don't have to stop," Emma said, returning her hands to Regina's shoulders, which, for the first time in months, didn't hurt at all. "I mean, I didn't do your front yet…" She trailed off, feeling both awkward and terrified.

Regina was too relaxed to care about much at all. All she knew was she didn't want the massage to stop. So she reached for the towel, rolled over, and quickly covered herself before Emma could be too embarrassed. Dancers were used to nudity, quick changes and so on, but Regina didn't particularly want Emma to see the evidence of her arousal. She could deal with it later, she told herself firmly. No matter how much she was enjoying this, she would not complicate their professional relationship. It would be stupid and foolish and idiotic and her mother would definitely find out and then kill her. And then Emma. And then her again. Slowly.

Emma started somewhere safe, with the front of Regina's shoulders. Her collarbone was beautiful; she trailed her fingers along it, pressing down just enough to pass it off as a massage technique. She avoided the perfectly rounded, gorgeous breasts (whose pert nipples were practically staring at her), doing no more than brushing their edges as she worked on the muscles of Regina's sides. She had seen plenty of breasts. It was no big deal. No, these ones were not special. They were just breasts. Just normal, exquisite, delicious-

"Fuck!"

Regina's eyes snapped open.

"Miss Swan? Are you alright?"

Emma blushed bright red. "Oh, yeah, just spilled some lotion."

Regina closed her eyes again. "Be careful of the sheets," she could not help but mutter. She was furious with herself as soon as she said it, but Emma didn't know that. The sheets didn't matter. Regina had probably already ruined them.

Emma moved to Regina's ribs and diaphragm, feeling Regina's slow, deep breaths. She gave the towel covered area a wide berth, then worked hard on Regina's legs, knowing how much hers ached. She'd figured out a way to loosen up her knees (she did it on herself) and she used it.

"You'll have to teach me this," Regina murmured. "When I'm awake."

Emma chuckled softly, and then she was done.

"Not quite all," she said thoughtfully. "Roll back over?"

Regina enjoyed being asked as a question, rather than being given a demand. She did as Emma said, though she couldn't think of a body part that the blonde had missed. The bed dipped as Emma got off it, then Regina heard a few sounds from the bathroom. Potty break? Emma padded back into the room and pulled the sheet over Regina. Regina tried not to be disappointed.

"Don't want you to get cold," Emma said, managing not to sound too sad. There weren't tears, at least.

Regina hoped this wasn't going to be something weird. Emma had almost gotten into her good books, she didn't want to have to hate her again. Emma got back on the bed and went back to straddling her, resting gently on her back. Then, carefully, she slipped her hands into Regina's hair, beginning to delicately massage her scalp.

Regina hummed at the feeling, but she couldn't hold back a snarky comment.

"I don't use my scalp for dancing."

"No, but you use your head, and you always seem stressed."

Regina had to admit, she was plagued by headaches, and Emma's fingers felt amazing. She had a feeling Emma's fingers felt amazing no matter where they were. She considered how they might feel if they were somewhere in particular-

"Okay, thank you, I think you should go now!" she said hurriedly, the second Emma's hands left her head.

Emma's brow furrowed in a way that would have been utterly adorable had Regina been wearing anything but a sheet. She sat up, pulled it around herself, and shivered as she realised how ridiculously flustered she was.

"Thank you very much," she added. "That was wonderful. But I am exhausted and I need tomorrow to practise and I think I have had rather too much wine."

Emma jumped off the bed.

"Right, yeah, I… Uhm, you're welcome? I guess I'll see you Monday."

She had no idea what was going on. Well, she did have an idea, but one, it was incredibly wishful thinking, and two, she would never have handled it the way Regina was. I mean, so what if she was turned on? Emma bit her lip, tempted to offer to help her out, even as a joke, just to see her face, but something stopped her - what if she said yes?

Emma didn't screw her coworkers. At least not while they were her coworkers. And Regina Mills wasn't just a coworker, she was arguably the best ballet dancer in the U.S., she was famous and stuck up as hell, she was kind of evil, and she would definitely take all the children in the divorce. Emma gave herself a shake. Where had that come from?

"I appreciate it, sincerely," Regina said stiffly. Emma knew she was telling the truth. Maybe she was just embarrassed in a non-sexual way - massages are very intimate even if you're not attracted to the masseuse. That would be it. She wasn't used to receiving them, and now she wanted to build her walls back up and get back to normal. So Emma should leave. Right. Emma should leave.

"I'll see myself out," Emma said, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she hovered in the doorway. "Thanks for dinner. It was delicious."

"Yes, we should do it again sometime."

Emma knew she should let it go, Regina was just being polite, it was clearly a line, she obviously didn't mean it-

"Really?"

Regina was surprised. She arranged the sheet until she felt more comfortably covered. Then she thought about it. It had just been something to say, she was getting desperate, there was an almost painful throbbing between her thighs, but Emma sounded so… Hopeful.

"You want to?"

"I, uh, well…" Emma struggled to find words, knowing she had put Regina on the spot, not wanting to force anything, but not quite ready to let go of the idea that Regina liked spending time with her, too.

"Will you dance tomorrow?" Regina asked suddenly.

Business. Right. Work. Emma could work. "Yeah, I mean, I like to sleep in a bit on Sundays but I usually hit the practice studio. I get bored otherwise." She laughed nervously. "I can never think of anything better to do."

Regina smiled, weak but genuine. She knew the feeling all too well.

"In that case… You know I need to use more feeling. You're good at that. Your turns are sloppy, your lifts are entirely unprofessional, but the feeling, the feeling is definitely there. You can help me."

Not, please help me. Not, I'd like it if you helped me. Not even, can you help me. Just, yes, you can, I expect it. She really was an evil bitch. But Emma couldn't bring herself to hate her. Or even to say no.

"My turns aren't sloppy," she said. "But yeah, I can help you." Then, because she remembered she was a grown up and just as valid as Regina, "You can come to me. I'll text you the address. Be there at midday."

"Midday? As in, halfway through the day?"

Emma grinned. "Yup. Til then, I'm sleeping."

"Very well. And in return, would you like… I feel wonderful," Regina said, almost visibly softening around the edges. "When we are finished with dancing for the day, I could return the favour."

"Oh, you don't have to," Emma said. It was one thing to do the touching. It was quite another to let down her guard enough to actually be touched.

"Fine," Regina said, trying not to feel hurt. People said she was aloof and detached, but how could she attach to people if they never let her do for them what they did for her? How could she be fair when no one ever let her? She didn't want to be abnormal.

Emma saw the brunette pouting and made a face.

"Okay, okay, you can give me a massage," she said. She already trusted Regina, they danced together, it would be fine.

"Until tomorrow, then," Regina said.

Emma managed to leave this time. Just. She didn't understand why she had such a strong urge to dive into Regina's bed. Yes, the woman was beautiful, but Emma was around beautiful women all the time, and she'd never had this much trouble resisting one before.

She climbed onto her bike, wedging on her helmet. She was a hot mess, and it was only going to get worse. The one day when she didn't have to be in such close proximity with the breathtaking brunette, she was choosing to be. Still. She had some great ideas about how to loosen her up. She'd liked the Scissor Sisters, but Emma had so much more than that in her repertoire. Emotion… She knew just what to use.


	4. Chapter 4

Regina had compromised, finding a car service instead of a taxi. She would stand by her offer of a vacation to her driver. Loving parents should be with their children. She had no idea where she was going, though. The address Emma had given her had showed up on Google Maps in some kind of industrial district with a crime rate higher than - well, Regina was trying not to think about it. She was also trying not to think about the delicious ache below her belly that an hour-long cold shower this morning had done nothing whatsoever to dissipate.

At least she'd slept well… She didn't want to admit it to Emma, but she'd been woken up several times by nightmares, cruel echoes of her childhood that she could never seem to get away from. She rolled her shoulders. Her body felt amazing, that was irrefutable. And she was definitely ready to dance.

The driver pulled up.

"Are you sure it's here, Ma'am?" he asked. Regina slipped out of the car, saying that yes, she was quite sure, thank you. She wondered if this was all some elaborate joke to lure her into a shady part of town and ruin her. Maybe Emma just wanted her part, after all, Emma had always been the Swan Queen, the centre, the star… She'd gotten past Regina's defences and now she was going to break her-

"Hey, Regina? You okay? You look fucking terrified."

"Miss Swan, charmed, as always."

Emma laughed. "Sorry I'm late, I figured you wouldn't have eaten anything real so I picked up breakfast." She held out a despicably greasy looking paper bag which she seemed to expect Regina to take.

"No thank you, I have already eaten."

"Whatever, take it anyway so I can get my keys."

Regina rolled her eyes and took the bag. She had to admit, it smelled fantastic. A look wouldn't hurt… She peeped inside.

"Bacon grilled cheese," Emma said. "Go on. It's good."

"It's literally dripping with fat."

"Which will be muscle before you know it. Stop being so precious and have some."

Regina walked through the door that Emma held for her and delved into the bag, wincing as her hands touched the slimy meal. Her stomach screamed for it, though. She'd had nothing but an apple this morning. And in Emma's other hand was something definitely delightful - coffee.

"Here," Emma said, passing Regina a styrofoam cup and taking the bag back to get her own sandwich.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," Regina moaned as she bit into her sandwich.

Emma choked with laughter. "Did you just say _fiddlesticks_?"

Regina blushed bright red. "No."

"Liar."

"Okay, yes," Regina said, cringing. "But only because I don't curse."

"And why not? A good curse never hurt anybody."

"I must disagree. My… Cursing was not allowed when I was growing up."

"Oh, sure, but fuck that now, right?"

"I mean… I suppose it would not hurt. It's just habit."

Emma wolfed down the remainder of her sandwich. "That's your first lesson."

"What?"

"Here, come on." The blonde strolled into the centre of the studio (which was strangely perfect, a mix of disused factory and dated but certainly adequate dance equipment) and faced Regina, who was sitting with her back to the large wall mirror. Regina set down her sandwich and coffee (she ate slowly and neatly, no matter the menu) and followed.

Emma pointed to them in the mirror.

"Okay, take some deep breaths, use your diaphragm-"

"I know how to breathe, Swan."

Emma chuckled.

"Got your rhythm?" she asked after a few more breaths.

Regina nodded.

"Okay, now take another deep breath in and on the exhale, shout the first curse word that comes to mind."

Regina reddened. "I can't!"

"No such word as can't, Mills."

Regina narrowed her eyes. "You're trying to make me mad."

Emma grinned. "It's working, too."

"Emma, stop it, please. Let's just get to the dancing."

"This is part of it. Come on, Regina, it's gonna feel so good. Look."

Emma breathed deeply, looked right at the mirror, and,

"FUCK!"

Regina would have blushed again but she was still red from earlier. She began to feel nervous and tense, hating being given a task she felt unable to perform.

Emma bit her lip. Was this stupid? Regina seemed totally uncomfortable, anxious, even. Emma went up behind her. She still thought it was a good idea, she just… She rested her hands on Regina's hips. Regina jumped in surprise, even though she'd seen the move coming in the mirror. Somehow she hadn't expected to feel it - it had been as if what was happening in the mirror was another life, another world, a parallel universe over which she had no control.

Emma moved her hands to Regina's stomach, holding her. There was a section of one of their dances like this, where Regina turned on point and Emma spun her. Regina instinctively raised onto her toes; she was still in sneakers but she carried on with the step, needing something to focus on. Emma went along with it, doing her part but not letting go when the section was over.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked softly.

"I cannot tell you," Regina replied. "But thank you for asking."

Emma sighed. "You're a riddle, you know that?"

Regina looked at them in the mirror, thinking about the mess they'd gotten themselves into.

"Fuck," she muttered.

Emma grinned, pulling her closer into a kind of hug.

"Ha! Didn't that feel good?"

Regina smiled. "Yes, fine, I suppose it did. Now, may we dance?"

There was a pause. Emma decided to stop pushing. She put her iPod into the dock for the sound system.

"We're going to dance to this," she said. "But first, close your eyes, and we'll just listen."

She pressed play and let Saint Saens' "Le Cygne" echo through the silent room.

Regina closed her eyes, feeling suddenly cold. She had heard the piece before but in this situation she was thrown. She'd been expecting rock, pop, something loud, crude, something Emma. Well, something that fitted in with the simplistic idea of Emma she was already far beyond.

Her arms prickled with goose bumps as the notes of the cello swelled through the room. She thought about the swan in the music, soaring through the air, graceful, strong and powerful, and to her horror, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Emma watched Regina stand in the middle of the room. The brunette was not a tall woman, but Emma had never seen her look so tiny. The last few days had demolished Regina's defences and without them she was raw and human and exquisite. Emma was transfixed; she didn't mean to stare and when tears started to pour down Regina's cheeks she wanted to turn off the music and comfort her but something held her back, something caught in her mind and she knew she had to let this happen. Regina needed this.

The piece ended in a light diminuendo and the quiet was so loud Emma could hardly hear herself think. Regina kept her eyes closed, darkness and white noise swelling around her as she hid behind denial and mortification. She was still crying. Emma crossed the room and stood opposite her but Regina made no acknowledgement. The foot between them might as well have been an ocean for all the good proximity did them.

Emma looked at Regina's tear stained face. The mask had been completely washed away and what lay underneath was both heartwrenchingly painful and devastatingly beautiful.

Regina's full, scarred lips trembled with the gentle sobs that still shook through her and Emma did the only thing she could think of. She kissed them.

In a way, the kiss did not surprise Regina at all. It felt so natural that she didn't even open her eyes, she just, for once, indulged in a moment of bliss.

It ended far, far too soon. Emma pulled back, Regina opened her eyes, the moment was gone and they just stared at each other. Regina wiped away her tears and the same movement seemed to restore her facade.

"Perhaps we should just dance to the Tchaik," Regina suggested.

Emma nodded. "Yeah, maybe that would be better."

"You can polish your turns."

"You can work on your acting."

A little smile. That was something, Emma thought. What had just happened, anyway? They changed their shoes, took off their jackets, set up the music, and Regina asked if they could rehearse the ballroom act, where she played her cursed, darkest self and needed to show no emotion whatsoever. Again, Emma chose not to push.

Regina wondered, as she danced, if one kiss could really be enough to know that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with the woman beside her. She came to the conclusion that she'd known long before it.

They danced into the evening, pausing only for swigs of water. At around 8pm, Regina felt a wave of exhaustion right before a lift and held up her hand.

"I need a minute," she said.

"We can stop," Emma said. "I mean, it's perfect. We don't need to do it again."

"Just because we do it perfectly once, does not mean it will be perfect every time," Regina said, sounding exactly like her mother and despising herself for it.

Emma sensed the tension, as in, even more tension than the tension they'd been dealing with for the entire afternoon.

"So what?"

She should have kept her mouth shut. For a moment something like agony flashed across Regina's face, but it morphed into anger before Emma could even be sure-

" _So what?_ Do you care nothing about your career? Because if that is your attitude, Miss Swan, I have given you far more credit than you deserve! To think I was considering… To think I respected someone so entirely unprofessional, I-"

"Regina-"

"Don't interrupt me! What right have you to disregard my standards, to sneer at the one thing I excel at?"

"I… Look, I'm sure you're good at tons of stuff, anyway. You're an amazing cook, you're beautiful, you're actually pretty fun when you're not yelling at me-"

"You are entirely missing the point!"

"What were you considering?"

Regina faltered. "That wasn't the point either."

"But you said it, so what were you considering?"

"I… Stop pestering me, Miss Swan! We are here to dance."

Emma groaned. "No, we're not. I'm done for the day."

"You're giving up?"

"Giving up what, exactly? Practising a routine we've performed flawlessly countless times? Or fighting with you about nothing whatsoever?"

"We are not fighting about nothing! _This_ is not nothing!"

"I think that's exactly what it is, Regina." Emma gestured between them. " _This_ is nothing, not a thing."

"But you kissed me!" Regina blurted out.

"So you noticed that? You could've fooled me."

"Emma…"

Emma almost melted. The way Regina said her name… But no. She couldn't do this. She would not let her guard down just to be bulldozed yet again.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She made a beeline for the door, not even bothering to change her shoes.

"But-"

Emma tossed her the keys. "Lock up when you're done."

"Em-"

Emma couldn't let her say it again. "Goodbye, Regina," she said firmly, closing the door between them and keeping her hands on it as if it might burst open at any second. But Regina didn't follow her, there were no blasts of magic, and she got on her bike and went home.

Regina took a deep breath, then went to press play. Her hand hovered over the button of the piece she already knew far too well, and at the last moment she switched the song.

Rich cello notes swelled through the room as Regina threw herself into a dance her body created on its own. Tears welled up in her eyes but there was no one to see and she felt almost proud of them. Emma might think she was made of stone, but she knew the truth. She was the Swan, both dark and light, and she soared through the air with desolate grace, forbidden from the only love she wanted.


End file.
